Anthem of the Fallens

The day Domiki had committed suicide left his parents with a tragic life. His father who loved his son dearly had fallen to drinking which lead to abusing his wife. His mother allowing the abuse was afraid to leave. They have fallen. But the question isnt where. It's how far?

Submitted:Oct 7, 2012
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A year after Domiki's
death.

Masked by the scent
of alcohol that tend to linger, the female laid in the corner
curled up. Her face covered by the bright red hair that gleam in
the moonlight. The male to which lean over her spoke something,
but his voice only reached her in slurs. It was sure that he had
left her another print that she may have to lie again about. Ever
since their sons death, Mr. Foan being to drink which lead to
abusing his wife. He blamed her for it all and she knew this
well. As he sighed wondering off to his office once more, Mrs.
Foan removed herself from the floor escaping to the bathroom.
Closing the door gently behind her afraid of her husband
overreacting, she turned to the mirror to check out the marking.
A hand print bright red appear just before her cheek with a
finger under her left eye. It seem that not even enough make-up
applied well enough could cover what was done. She gave a small
whimper removing her eyes from the image. Mrs. Foan couldn't
blame her husband for his anger nor the fact that he drank to
drown the memories. The matter was even she believed herself that
it was her fault for Domiki's death. Fear took over her after the
beating had started, that she didn't know how to tell him that
she was pregnant once more. She feared that he would either denie
the child. But then she knew if she didnt tell him, then he beat
her killing the child. Opening the door to the bathroom, Mrs.
Foan turn her back to the image of her stepping into the silence
of the house once more.

Mr. Foan hunched
over his desk bringing the bottle of fire whiskey closer to him.
Silence pressed into the darkness of the paper covered room.
Books that didnt lay in the shelves, spread heavily across the
floor in semi stacks. He found himself rather incapable of
cleaning. Sober or not. A sigh forge pass his lips as he shift
his form now to the upward position. Bringing the bottle of
whiskey to his lips, he down what little had been left. It was
clear that he's been drinking all day. On top of their sons
death, Mr. Foan found himself starting to get angry thus turning
to abusing his wife. It was guilt that ride on top of all else
things. He told himself the day those two met on a journey to
Rome that he would marry her and never lay a hand on her profound
beauty. Yet darkness took over his life, so here he hid from his
crimes. Not wanting to be in his study anymore, he gotten up
stumbling towards the door. Reaching for the doorknob, the
bathroom door closing echo softly against the night. He knew she
had been checking the damage he left this time. With a heave of
his shoulders, Mr. Foan open the door and proceed to stumble down
the hall towards their son's untouched room. Since Domiki's
death, his parents came to terms to each other that they would go
into his room. But Mr. Foan found himself rather lingering inside
his room plaster regretting the things he become. The posters of
bands still hung upon the wall as the large bed remain in the
middle of the room. A bookshelf that nearly reached the ceiling
hang in the left side full of books. A desk carrying a lap, and a
old style phone laid next to the bed on the right. Mr. Foan
stumbled crashing onto the bed laying there in silence. It seemed
almost as if his son had still been here. The scent of cologne
and flowers seem to have filled the air each time he stepped into
the room. Stumbling across the room, he landed on the bed
bringing the whiskey to his lips once more. The burning sensation
rush down his throat leaving only room for more remorse. With a
heavier sigh, he brought the bottle from his lips tilting only in
the slightest as if not to ruin the bed. Over the few months of
traveling well into alcoholism, Mr. Foan spend his time in the
land of grand denial. He didnt want to believe that his son had
taken his own life. It was impossible to think that their son who
had the perfect like, had taken his life by such a pussy way. In
his words as if his mother thought such cruel things. Reaching
out, he tried to grip the fake glowing stars plaster to the
ceiling as if to grab for some hope. But retracted his hands
realizing that hope dies with only pain to follow. Having came to
this final conclusion, the male pushed himself from the bed
stumping every now and then before exiting the room. 'Fucking
pussy.' he whispered closing the door behind
him.

Mrs. Foan was
cleaning the dishes when the pain had started. At first she only
brushed it away as if it was just from the beatings. Not only
then did her water commence to break upon the marble floor, did
she realize that she was in labor. The plates she was holding
onto had broken against the sink alerting her husband who was
watching the football game in the living room. He rushed in
bringing a hand up as if to back hand her, but stop when he saw
the water and pain stuck face. 'I am in labor.' she said through
each breath. Mr. Foan guide his wife into the living room and
laid her down. For that moment and only that moment, he felt like
he was once his old self. 'I know that. Why you think I didnt
beat you for disturbing my game.' he said in a dark tone. Mrs.
Foan would pay no attention to his words worrying more on her
unborn child. Leaving her side, the husband ran to the phone and
proceed to call nine one one. He nod something before hanging up.
Soon after doing so, he then return to his wife side saying
something to himself that would never reach her ears. It took a
few moments to reach the house at the end of Maleurry Street due
to the turns, but in so Mrs. Foan was strapped to a gurney and on
her way to Darkbay Hospital. The nurse which took her wheel chair
spoke something to the desk clerk that went unchecked. Then
faster then she was able to blink, she was swished away to a
room. There she was helped into bed and propped up in the right
potion to give birth. Mr Foan didint follow yet stay behind
drinking himself till he could no longer tell real to
fake.

'It's a healthy
girl.' a nurse said to the sweating and breathless woman arched
on the bed. Her face seem to hold somewhat of a dumb founded
look. The nurse walked over and handed her the baby wrapped in a
pink blanket. The child had eyes of ocean blue and a smile that
match her mother. From the few strands of hair that was visible,
she cold tell that the child was blond. 'From tragic events you
are born. My little Israel.' her mother spoke leaning down to
kiss her baby's head.

At two thirty in
the morning the house phone ring only answered by a answering
machine. It was Mr. Foan wife telling them that the baby was
born. It was a girl and her name was Israel. The called ended
with a I love you then nothing. Darkness danced heavily through
the room avoiding the semi sun light grasping through the blinds.
Silence only brought more chills to the air meaning no harm in
the end. Disturbed by the sounds of a banging on the door, there
was no answer. A voice said something then there was another loud
bang. Footsteps invaded the forever swirls of darkness leaving
behind a single blackness to be worried of. Approaching the bed
room door, the footsteps stopped then another knock. Once again
no answer. As the door open there stood two cops. What they came
to saw was that of pure tragic. For Mr. Foan was laying in bed
with blood painting the bed and wall. The gun used remain clinch
in is right hand as in his left was a note. The note read: 'I
love you my dear Israel.'